Legacy eg-6

by David L. Golemon

  “How many do we have?” Niles asked, looking at the giant booster and Ares’s different stages as they lay prone in the massive complex housing the project. The director of DARPA saw that Compton had expertly sidestepped the issue of the president secretly saving the Ares system even though his budget cut had called for it. On the monitor everything gleamed in pure whiteness and the sight was so impressive that Niles had a hard time not looking at its beauty.

  “One platform is available now, complete with the Orion crew capsule and the Altair lunar lander. All are highly advanced systems designed for Moon debarkation and extended habitation. The other Ares can be put together in a matter of a week and transported to either one of two launch facilities, complete with a three-quarters-finished lunar landing and transport system.”

  “We have two Ares and no other backup?” Niles turned and faced Appleby. “Those are all untried systems.” Niles held up a hand when Appleby looked to protest. “That’s not a rebuke, just an observation. What if the president gives a go to a Moon mission and the system fails?”

  “That’s exactly why I brought you here, Mr. Compton. I need to show you the only reliable backup we have.”

  Sarah stepped back from the large screen as Appleby punched some buttons on the computer keyboard. “My science offices axed this program many, many years ago, but NASA, in its nostalgia, hung on to it.”

  As they watched, the scene went from Ares to a view that was live but had none of the activity that the Ares I mission warehouse had. The giant hangarlike structure was dark and all they could see was four men standing near a giant object.

  “This is a warehouse on seldom used grounds at the Cape-hidden away, if you will.” Appleby looked at Sarah and Virginia. “That’s Cape Canaveral.”

  As they tried to figure out what it was they were looking at, Appleby brought a phone to his ear.

  “Okay, Dan, hit the lights and pull off the tarp. Let’s show our guests what it is they’re looking at.”

  Niles, Virginia, and Sarah watched as the bright lighting of the warehouse came up. The four men reached for the bottom of a giant red plastic tarp. They started pulling. Soon they were joined by several security men in white shirts in an effort to get the tarpaulin off without the massive hundred-yard material killing someone. As it finally gave, Niles recognized it immediately and fell in love all over again. He recognized the most amazing sight he had ever seen as a boy, an object that dwarfed the men who were uncovering it.

  “I give you the Atlas V rocket, designed by Wernher von Braun, at one time the most powerful launch system in the world.”

  Niles examined the copper-colored features of the unpainted Atlas V. It was glorious in all its terrible beauty. The vehicle that had taken mankind to the Moon over four decades before was still a sight that sent chills down his spine.

  “Are you telling me we have a complete system?”

  Appleby smiled and stepped up to the screen. “We have this one and one other, but the second is hanging like an old out-of-date picture in the Smithsonian. NASA never had the willpower to dismantle this one. We have everything for the old girl. We have the Apollo capsule, which of course we couldn’t use today for safety purposes, and we also have the lunar lander, or LEM, complete with upgrades for her systems on the design boards. But I’m afraid that would take too long to rebuild. We would probably have to go with a third Altair lander, if we can match the designs together.”

  “My God,” Sarah and Virginia said simultaneously.

  “This would be our backup for Ares, Dr. Compton.” Appleby walked back to the control system and closed the image from Florida. “I guess you can tell the president that we weren’t caught totally flat-footed on this one. All we need is a launch time frame and we can meet any challenge. Of course, we’ll have to remove most if not all of the safety protocols.”

  Niles grabbed his coat and his briefcase. He turned to Virginia and Sarah as he neared the door. “Once aboard the plane, I need a direct line to the president.” He held the door open for the two women and looked back at Appleby. “I hope you can meet any challenge, Mr. Appleby, because the Chinese have just informed the United Nations they plan to launch in three weeks. The ESA should follow shortly. But we will meet that challenge and beat them to the punch if at all humanly possible.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “Begin preparations to get the two Ares systems up and get the Atlas ready to go. We’ll need them in less than a month from today. That still puts us a week behind everyone else.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “No, it’s necessary, Mr. Appleby. If we like our way of life, we’d better beat those other powers to the Moon and bring back whatever is up there. Much more than falling behind is at stake here.”

  “Does the president know about this?” Appleby asked, as Niles turned and walked through the door.

  “He soon will, Mr. Appleby. I suggest you get on the phone and start waking up about a million people, because we’re going back to the Moon.”

  Appleby watched as the door closed. Then he turned and brought up the image of the warehouse at Cape Canaveral again. He watched as the men stood there, dwarfed by the powerful rocket, its five motors, and its engine bells. He shook his head.

  “Impossible,” he said. His eyes continued to dwell on the image of the old spacecraft, and then a smile slowly crept across his lips. With fist clenched, he hit the desk lightly. He didn’t care if it was impossible. They were going back to the Moon and he would give it the best possibility of success. Finally he closed his eyes and shouted, “Yes!”

  ***

  A front of rain clouds and wind had encircled the city of Houston. Niles, Sarah, and Virginia were forced to wait out the storm on the private tarmac at William P. Hobby Airport. As they waited they were informed by Pete Golding from the Event Group Complex in Nevada that Jack and his team were on their way home, and with that message the Department of State had received notification that an arrest warrant had been issued for Colonel Collins, Captain Everett, and Lieutenants Ryan and Mendenhall. The charge was two counts of murder and industrial espionage.

  Niles sat in shock. Virginia and Sarah both exchanged incredulous looks, knowing that if Jack and the others had to kill, it was only as a last resort, and it would never be anyone who didn’t intend them harm first.

  “Who the hell did they supposedly kill?” Niles asked Pete. They were speaking over a secure video link between the private Learjet owned by the Event Group and Niles’s office beneath the desert sands at Nellis AFB. Pete slowly removed his glasses and looked into the camera.

  “Two Ecuadorian tourists, supposedly during a carjacking,” Pete said, with a tinge of disgust at the accusation.

  “But they are safely out of the country and in the air?” Niles asked.

  “Yes, ETA Nellis in forty-five minutes,” Pete said. He slid his glasses back on and continued with the report. “Also, the government of Ecuador has closed off the region that includes the old German excavation and has reinforced that closing with federal troops. That’s something that particular government has never done before.”

  “Has Europa come up with anything about the true ownership of the excavation?”

  “No, that information has been buried pretty deep, but we’ll find them. We do have a lead on this Brinkman fellow in Berlin. It seems there is a connection between him and Operation Columbus, a pretty strong one.”

  “What’s that?” Niles asked, always irritated at the way Pete had to have information dragged from him.

  “It seems his father was a prisoner at Spandau Prison at the same time, for a few hours or so, as Albert Speer. Speer was Hitler’s architect and one of the managers of Columbus. There’s a smoking gun here.”

  “Tell Jack to contact me as soon as he settles in at the complex. We may need for him and the captain to take another trip.”

  “Germany?” Pete asked.

  “It seems everything begins and ends right where it a
ll started, and I’m afraid we need feet on the ground there to find out what everyone else knew that we didn’t. Also, have Europa get into the Ice Blue computer system at CIA, the Pentagon, and the FBI. We need to pin down a connection between this Brinkman character and Columbus. Cross-reference all of the pertinent names Senator Lee mentioned. Get any information you receive into Jack’s hands. I’ll leave it up to him and his team to decide what to do with it.”

  Pete was writing furiously as he took down the instructions.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, it seems NASA and DARPA have been keeping secrets from the rest of the federal government-to our benefit it seems-but I need a complete workup of everything those two agencies have on inventory with the National Accounting Office. Also, get Europa into the House Ways and Means Committee and find out what secret funding NASA and DARPA have received over, say, the past thirty years. Anything that relates to a manned incursion into space. I don’t want to have to pry information out of these people, especially about projects they want to keep hidden. We may need everything they have.”

  “Wow, is that all?” Pete finally looked up at the camera.

  “No, get your coffee cups and lunch tray off of my desk,” Niles said, disconnecting the view of a stunned Pete on his laptop.

  Niles took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked at Sarah and Virginia.

  “Okay, as for you two, you’re dropping me off at Andrews Air Force Base. I have to pay the president a visit, and then you’ll fly on to Nevada. Virginia, you take charge, assist Jack and determine if we need feet on the ground in Germany.” He held up his hand to stop Virginia before she could say anything. “No, you are not to go on any field missions. Stay put at the complex.” He put his glasses back on and looked at Sarah. “Lieutenant, I want you, Ryan, and Mendenhall to put together a team and start trying to figure out what this mineral is and how we can get a handle on controlling it just in case some other nation brings back a load of it. There has to be something in our own natural makeup that resembles it in some way. I suspect that earthbound samples of it exist. The Germans may have it lying around or maybe they’ve distributed it in some form.”

  “I don’t think we-”

  “Humor me, Sarah. Find anything, we’ll need someone with an understanding of what we’re dealing with where this mineral is concerned”-he leaned closer toward Sarah-“and to put it frankly, I want at least one of our people on any attempt to get a mission up there. Guess at what that mineral is and what it’s made of. Your best guess will get you on one of those missions. I don’t trust anyone I don’t know to give me the straight dope on what it is we’re dealing with. The president would feel better too. Virginia and I will explain further when the time comes.”

  Sarah leaned back in her seat, stunned as she’d never been stunned before at the suggestion that she could possibly be included on something like a Moon shot. Niles saw her dilemma and patted her on the knee.

  “I suggest you don’t mention what I just said to Jack.”

  “For your sake,” Virginia said to Niles.

  “Director Compton,” said the voice of the Air Force pilot in the cockpit. “We’ve been cleared for runway three north. We’ll be rolling in one minute.”

  Niles winked at the still shocked Sarah and then finally fastened his seat belt.

  ***

  Laurel Rawlins watched the Learjet from the dry shelter of a private hangar three buildings down, where the small jet was spooling up her engines for taxiing onto the runway. She smiled as she turned to look at the man McCabe had recruited, someone from his antiterrorist days with the army. The bearded man watched Laurel closely. He never spoke much and when he did she could always hear the disdain he held for women of any religion or country. A man losing his faith was a nasty thing to watch.

  “At what speed did you set the charge to go off?” she asked, watching the blue and white Learjet start moving.

  She had nervously waited as the Mechanic-the name he was known by in every police agency in the world-placed a one-ounce charge of C-4 explosive near the aluminum rim of the nose wheel of the jet.

  “The charge will detonate at one hundred knots, a split second before the jet reaches takeoff speed. That should be enough to send the plane off course and cause it to crash before liftoff. I have done this before. You may not wish to watch.”

  Laurel smiled and pulled her silk windbreaker closer around her upper body.

  “Are you kidding? This is what I live for,” she said. She was disgusted that the bearded Mechanic would even suggest such a weakness. She turned away and watched the Learjet taxi toward the runway. “You need to have faith in women, my friend. Your old ways of looking at things have never made you any true friends among your own kind. James and Daddy will be proud. They won’t be using this Mr. Compton to coordinate anything having to do with the Moon. I’m afraid they’ll have to get someone else.”

  She was so excited that she could barely keep her legs still.

  As the Learjet taxied further into the misting gray fog of Hobby Airport, the cell phone inside Laurel’s windbreaker rang. She shook her head, not wanting her glee at what was about to happen disturbed. Her blue eyes were glowing in anticipation. Her father’s eyes had glowed that morning too, though what she was feeling was anticipatory wonder and excitement and what her father had been feeling was pure anger at not being able to control everything around him. Finally, she realized that the only people who had this particular cell phone number were her father and James McCabe, her Mr. Smith. She angrily tore into the coat pocket and ripped the phone free. She opened it hard enough that the Mechanic standing next to her heard the cover crack.

  “What?” she hissed into the phone.

  “Laurel, what are you doing?” a voice asked.

  “I’m doing what you would do if you were here,” she said into the phone. “And you know what, James? I’m a little busy at the moment.”

  “Listen, tell me what you’ve done, quickly.” McCabe’s voice was calm and precise.

  “I’m helping you and Daddy, just like you taught me to do.”

  “Slow down and listen to me. If you are planning on hurting Compton and his team, you’ll not be doing us any favors. Do you understand?”

  “But-”

  “Laurel, right now we have the advantage. We know about him, but he has no idea who we are. Stop whatever it is you are doing, right now.”

  McCabe’s voice was so calm and measured that Laurel was taken off guard. She felt embarrassed and humiliated at having thought this was something that would have made her part-time lover and her father proud of her. She lowered the phone and looked at the Mechanic, who was still wiping his hands on the red rag and sneering at her.

  “Disarm the charge,” she said, not looking directly at the bearded man but at the distant jet as it rounded onto the runway. The man saw her face go slack, and the vitality she had displayed only seconds before had drained away. For the first time he saw through the young woman’s expensive exterior and the ugliness that he saw was shocking. He nodded his head. Her eyes narrowed and she watched as the Event Group Learjet spooled up its engines to full takeoff power.

  “You realize that the charge will be discovered when the mechanics check the aircraft?”

  Laurel, instead of replying, just tossed the cell phone at the Mechanic, not caring if he caught it or not, and then she turned angrily away and stepped out into the misting air.

  “Yes?” he said into the phone.

  “Can you undo what you have arranged with that aircraft?” McCabe asked.

  The Saudi-born Mechanic reached into his coveralls’ front pocket and brought out a small transmitter. He hit the single red button on its face.

  “It is done,” he said into the phone.

  “Now listen closely. You are never to engage in any wet work without my explicit confirmation of action. You are never to allow Laurel to… compromise herself again. She, like her father, needs to be prote
cted. Do you understand?”

  “Completely.”

  “Now, I assume you used a remote device on Compton’s aircraft, yes?”

  “This is correct,” the Mechanic said. He watched Laurel as she stared after the streaking Learjet on the runway.

  “Do you have the ability to track the device?”

  “Up to three thousand miles. I am tied into the Faith-” The man stopped himself before saying the name of his employer. “I am patched through a reliable satellite service.”

  “Track-only for now. Gather your equipment and alert your ground personnel. We have duties in Russia and then down south in French Guiana.”

  The Mechanic closed the phone without saying anything. He watched as Laurel fixed on him with a look of hatred and failure.

  “You will have to fly home commercially, madam,” he said. “Or hire a plane. I have been ordered to another area of opportunity.”

  Laurel stood in the light rain and stared at the Mechanic. Her hair was drenched and her beautiful features were obscured by the stringy strands of hair.

  “It must be hell for a man like you to lose your faith in yourself,” she said. “So many of your brothers have been martyred and here you are, worse than your onetime enemies. Taking money from the people you once professed to despise, who you would have killed in a minute. You are worse than sad, and you hate me because I am a woman.” She took a step toward the Mechanic. “Well, at least I have the courage of my convictions. You have nothing. I expect McCabe knew what he was doing when he hired you. You just may make that martyrdom yet, but don’t expect your promised virgins in the afterlife. From what I understand they don’t reward cowards.”